by Linn Schwab
“Right now?” Suzanne asked, surprised.
Veronica nodded. “She’s waiting for you.”
Puzzled, Suzanne got out of her seat and made her way up to the control room level. The office Major Richards was using had formerly belonged to Commander Jeffries. The door was open when she arrived. Major Richards was sitting behind the desk, looking down at a jumbled mess of reports. Suzanne knocked and politely remained at the doorway. “You wanted to see me, Major?” she asked.
The major looked up and waved her inside. “Lieutenant Carillo, I have something for you.” She pointed to a box on the front of her desk. “This just arrived for you from Valhalla.”
Suzanne looked down at the box in confusion. “What is it?” she asked.
“Something you asked for.”
That left her even more confused. “I don’t remember asking for anything,” she said.
“Oh, but you did,” the major insisted. “And it would appear that your request has been granted. Though perhaps not in the manner you might have been expecting.” She nodded toward the box. “Go ahead. Take a look.”
Suzanne cautiously reached for the lid and tilted it back to peer inside. A fold of luxurious black fabric spilled out. She gasped and looked at the major in shock.
* * * *
“Attention, please!” Major Richards announced, walking briskly into the cafeteria. The chatter immediately died down to nothing as the room’s occupants scrambled to stand at attention. The major waited a few seconds before continuing. “An important decision has finally been reached concerning the personnel on this station. I’m pleased to have the honor of announcing that our new commander has just been appointed.” She looked back toward the corridor and called out, “Commander?”
As everyone shifted their eyes toward the entrance, a slender figure in a sleek black dress stepped inside. The room remained quiet. Her face was familiar. Jenny was the first to break the awkward silence. “Commander Carillo?” she said as if seeking confirmation.
“In training,” Suzanne insisted with a smile.
A swell of cheers and applause filled the room, and the fledgling commander soon found herself surrounded by well–wishers dressed in Hornet black. She accepted their hugs and congratulations with bittersweet tears flowing from her eyes. Her days as a Hornet were over now. She would never be flying with them again. To her relief, they all seemed genuinely happy for her. Everyone, that is, except for Virginia, whose absence from the room left her somewhat disappointed.
* * * *
After wandering the corridors for an uncertain length of time, obsessing over the Tiger Shark’s presence on the station, Virginia decided she had to take action in the interest of protecting the others from themselves. The enemy pilot had to die, and she was clearly the logical choice to make it happen. Only she seemed to be unaffected by his spell. Only she could put an end to his malevolent enchantment. She headed for his quarters with steely resolve, determined to finish what she’d meant to do earlier.
Though Commander Jeffries’ name was still on the door, her former room now served as a holding pen for a creature far removed from her unparalleled humanity. All the more reason to kill him, Virginia decided. It’s revolting to even think of him being in her room. She walked straight to the panel outside the door and enabled the intercom video function. Before she could proceed with her plan to end his life, she had to be sure he was inside the room.
A viewscreen on the panel came to life, displaying an image of the room’s interior. An audible alert sounded from the speaker. Oh, shoot! she cursed inwardly. I didn’t mean to do that!
The sound appeared to alert the room’s occupant, who stirred from his resting position on the bed. He looked toward the door and approached the inner panel. The two of them were now staring each other in the face.
Kill him! Virginia urged herself. Kill him now, before you have second thoughts!
“Hello,” he said. “Can you hear me out there?”
She looked him in the eyes without even thinking. Dammit! she thought. Now he knows I can hear him. She entered a command on the panel’s keypad, and a brief hissing noise emanated from the door as an airtight seal formed around its perimeter.
The prisoner flinched when the seal activated, then looked at Virginia in concern. He swallowed and gave her an understanding nod. “I suppose all you have to do is push a few buttons, and my visit here will come to an end.”
Virginia continued entering commands. “A trigger is just another kind of button,” she said coldly.
The prisoner appeared to take her meaning. “Yeah, I suppose,” he conceded. “And I’ve already seen how proficient you are with triggers. When you get someone lined up in your sights, their death is pretty much guaranteed.”
Virginia paused and looked at him again, confused. “What?” she said.
“I’ve seen you fight,” he explained. “For what it’s worth, you’re the best I’ve ever come up against.”
The revelation left Virginia dazed and dumbfounded. When could I have possibly encountered him? she wondered. She thought back over her most recent dogfights, and suddenly it all seemed to fall into place. She reached for the wound on her upper left arm. “You shot me!” she observed with impassioned indignation.
“You were shooting at my captain,” he argued in defense. “You killed my captain. You killed my whole squadron.”
Virginia paused to reflect on what he was saying, and found herself locked in sudden inner turmoil. A disturbing realization had just come to her. She was exactly the monster the Tiger Sharks were — the ruthless, mindless killing machines of her nightmares. The destruction of his squadron exhibited a striking similarity to the loss of Kathy and the rest of squadron 57. When she looked at him again, she saw a variation of herself — lone survivor of a cadre torn asunder by a slayer. It was too much for her. She needed time to think. She pressed a button and released the airtight seal around the door.
* * * *
Admiral Sands paced back and forth in agitation as he waited for the visitor to arrive in his office. The recent loss of another battleship was a serious setback to his upcoming plans. And not only had the UES Arkansas been lost, but an Admiral had also been killed as well. This left an opening in that particular fleet at a time when he was loath to break in new leadership.
He heard a knock at the door and yelled out, “Come in.”
Commander Garrett Riley stepped inside and said, “Admiral.”
The admiral decided not to waste any time. “I specifically ordered diversionary tactics only,” he said. “Diversionary means keep the enemy guessing what we’re up to. It does not mean launch a full–out assault on their position. Yet I’m sitting here today with one less battleship at my disposal. What I want to know from you, Commander Riley, is why?”
“We were pressing an advantage,” the commander explained. “It was our furthest penetration yet into enemy space. Admiral Preston was acting on information he received about gaps in enemy patrol zones in that area.”
“Gaps?” the admiral said. “What gaps? What information? Where was he getting this intelligence from?”
“He was acting on progress reports from the Recoil.”
“And what exactly is this Recoil, Commander Riley?”
“It’s a ship,” he replied. “A modified destroyer. Didn’t you receive a report from Admiral Preston?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” the admiral said. “But since you’re here, why don’t you bring me up to speed. What’s so special about this modified destroyer? And more importantly, who gave the approval to go ahead with this project?”
Commander Riley took a deep breath. “It, uhh ... it was pretty much a wreck. Took a hit from a heavy cruiser shell. The magazine was almost entirely gutted. Four of the reload tracks were destroyed, and our engineers couldn’t get the parts to replace them. But otherwise, the ship was still in decent shape. The engines and other systems were fully functional. So our chief engineer comes up w
ith the idea to stuff the torpedo tubes full of machine guns. I don’t know how many guns he put in there. I think maybe five or six in each tube. The thing spits out an insane amount of lead. Almost looks like a dragon breathing fire.”
“Interesting,” the admiral said. “I think I’m beginning to understand where this ship gets its name.”
“Exactly. When you fire off that many machine guns at once ... well, you know ... equal and opposite reactions, as they say. The ship is a nightmare to handle when it fires, so we had to give the pilot control of the trigger. Otherwise, there just wasn’t any coordination at all.”
“And what exactly have you been doing with this ship, Commander? I assume from what you’ve told me that Admiral Preston was making use of it.”
“He sent it out to scout for enemy patrol ships. That’s how we knew their patrol zones were weakened. Last I heard, it had two kills to its name already.”
“Two kills? You mean two enemy destroyers?”
“Yes.”
The admiral leaned against his desk in contemplation. “You’ll fill in for Admiral Preston, Commander. Until a decision is made on his replacement. Make sure I get copies of the Recoil’s reports from now on. Any success we might have is a welcome change of events.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
* * * *
When the Calypso docked at Orion again, Delia disembarked and headed for the control room. Commander Freeling was waiting there for her. “Did you learn anything?” she asked anxiously.
Delia held up the chip that Jordan had retrieved from the Kiwi’s control panel. She tossed it to Commander Freeling, who immediately inserted it in a console.
A recording appeared on one of the monitors. The commander scrolled all the way through to the end. The final few seconds were horrific to watch, leaving both of them feeling slightly nauseated.
“This is not good,” the commander said. “Our patrols are in serious jeopardy now.”
As Delia replayed the image in her mind, she saw a future where Sentinel patrol ships could no longer serve as an effective deterrent. “We have to do something fast,” she said. “We have to make them think we have an answer to this. Convince them it isn’t going to be effective.”
“Yes, but how? I can’t send my fighters to chase after it. My forces are already stretched to the limit.”
“I know,” Delia said. “I saw what was left of them. You’re definitely going to need some help. I think I might have a solution, though. Can you patch me through to Volaris, Commander?”
* * * *
Virginia hadn’t wandered far from Jason’s room when she heard Lieutenant Marlowe’s voice:
“Squadrons eighty–two and one–seventeen, report to the control room right away, please.”
The announcement gave her the focus she needed to place her uncertainty on hold for a time. She could analyze her status as a monster later. Her status as a Sentinel was not in question.
Why the control room? she found herself asking as she ran to the nearest elevator. It seemed highly unusual to summon fighter squadrons there. Some sort of special training perhaps?
When she arrived, the two squadrons were standing together, looking up at a central overhead monitor. She recognized Delia’s face on the screen. We were summoned here by a destroyer captain? None of this made any sense to her. She found Zoe in the crowd and asked her what was happening.
“I’m not sure,” Zoe said. “Captain Pomeroy is over at Orion right now. Apparently she wants to show us something.”
Virginia looked up at the screen again and tried to make sense of what Delia was saying. Something about searching for missing patrol ships. Her voice implied a deep sense of concern.
“...and when we found the Kiwi,” Delia explained, “this was all that was left of her.”
The remains of a destroyer appeared on the screen, its stern section shredded and left in tatters. Clues about the weaponry used were clearly visible. Bullets did that, Virginia determined. The thought left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
“Do we know what caused this?” Jenny asked.
Delia’s face reappeared on the screen. “My crew retrieved some video from the Kiwi’s camera system. We think it might be a prototype the enemy is testing in this area.”
The image changed to an enemy destroyer spewing forth an endless cascade of bullets.
“I need your help,” Delia said. “We have to track this thing down and destroy it before it can take out any more of our patrol ships.”
Virginia could tell what Jenny was thinking, just by reading the look in her eyes. Robin would someday be patrolling this area. This ship would be a very real danger to her.
Jenny briefly glanced at Charlie. The two of them appeared to be in agreement. “Commander?” Jenny said, turning to Suzanne.
It was only now that Virginia realized Suzanne was wearing an officer’s dress. Suzanne, a commander? she wondered in confusion. What’s going on? This can’t be right. But she’d clearly heard Jenny address her as such, and Suzanne even had the blue card key in her pocket. She stood there in a daze, not knowing what to think. How could this have possibly happened?
Suzanne seemed a little unsure of herself, as if she wasn’t yet ready to exert her authority. “I defer this decision to Major Richards,” she said.
The major stepped forward and signaled her approval. “Captains McNeil and Sinclair,” she said, “I authorize you to fly to Orion and assist Commander Freeling in destroying that ship.”
Virginia looked to Jenny for permission to join them, but the answer was a simple shake of her head. She was grounded for yet another mission. More time for her to dwell on the monster she’d become — and the apparent promotion of her friend to commander. As the other pilots left the room, she slowly wandered over to Suzanne. The two of them gazed at each other in silence.
“You missed my coronation,” Suzanne informed her.
Virginia broke into an affectionate grin. “Commander Carillo,” she said, standing at attention, “it’s my duty to inform you that you’re too good a pilot to sit behind a desk.”
“My job is to work with trainees now,” she said. “I couldn’t pass that up. I just couldn’t, Virginia.”
“I understand,” Virginia told her. “And I know you’re going to be a wonderful commander. But I’m going to miss you ... and so will the others.” The two of them wrapped their arms around each other, and both of them knew it would be their last embrace. Going forward, their relationship would have to be more formal. Suzanne’s new position commanded more respect, and with it, a new degree of interpersonal decorum.
“I’m going to miss you too,” she said, and rested her chin on Virginia’s shoulder. “Don’t let go of me until I’m finished crying.”
“Is that an order?” Virginia asked.
She felt Suzanne laugh.
“Yes.”
* * * *
Doctor Lee’s diagnosis was still stuck in Karl’s thoughts as he pushed a mop bucket across the flight deck floor. “Six months to live. Maybe less.” If there’d ever been anything he wished he could forget, it would have to be the cancer that was eating him alive. Never see home again, he realized. Even if the war ends tomorrow, I won’t live long enough to make the trip back there. He was destined to die out here among the stars. Six more months of mopping floors. Was that all he had left to look forward to?
As he cleaned up a spill of hydraulic fluid, he saw a team of technicians hard at work, removing components from damaged fighters. Their task was to salvage any parts that might be useful before casting the unusable airframes into space. Even now, the remains of a stripped down fighter were being pushed into the starboard airlock. Once the plane was in place, the workers stepped back so the airlock doors could seal off the chamber. It was like watching a giant mechanical mouth swallow an oversized metallic bug. A series of clanking and hissing sounds followed as the plane was expelled through the outer opening. The doors opened again and the mouth was empty
, ready to consume its next hors d'oeuvre.
What a waste, Karl thought, lamenting the resources his planet had squandered on this endless conflict. Just as his own life had been wasted, he realized. Wasted on a dream that would never come true. The dream to see another planet, he remembered. That was the reason he had signed up for this. Not to fight, not to slaughter, not to kill anyone. Just a chance to see the wonders of another world, and add them to the knowledge stored in his mind.
As a second plane was pushed into the airlock, he felt a growing sense of restlessness inside. The mouth closed again and the fighter was gone. Another opportunity lost. He pushed his mop through the hydraulic fluid, collecting as much of the spill as he could. By chance, he happened to overhear Commander Ingman discussing inventory with one of the technicians.
With nothing to lose, he gathered his resolve and walked across the flight deck toward Commander Ingman. “Commander?” he said, interrupting the discussion.
The commander looked up from his inventory report. “Hello, Karl,” he said cordially. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes,” Karl said. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Anything at all. What’s on your mind?”
He pointed at the few damaged fighters that remained, awaiting their turn to be pushed into space. “Could I have one of those fighters?” he asked.
The commander seemed baffled by his request. “What could you possibly want with one of those?”
Karl gazed at the fighters with a certain sense of longing. “I saw Dr. Lee this morning,” he explained. “He tells me I only have six months left to live.”
Commander Ingman appeared shocked and saddened by the news. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Karl,” he said. “I wish there were something I could do about this. Look, uh ... about this request of yours, though. If all you want to do is take a spin in a fighter, I’m sure I can work something out for you.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Karl said.
“Then what?” the commander asked with sincerity.